MrFoster
by MoonyXmadness
Summary: short clips of Mr.Foster's  oh-so fun times in London.  rated M for violence that might come up...
1. Chapter 1

The repeated click of shoes on pavement echoed of nearby buildings as then man sprinted down the roads, trailed closely by the horde of specimens the ruckus he'd been making previously had attracted. Turning periodically to fire unsteadily behind him, attempting to thin the ranks of the creatures gaining on him with little success.

He'd be fine, he just needed to keep them away long enough to cross the bridge, find a hiding spot and wait them ou-

"Fuckin' hell..." Foster cursed stopping abruptly not far from the entrance to the bridge and lifting the gas mask he wore from the bottom to get a better look.

He almost wished he hadn't.

Across the bridge a horde no larger than the one closing in on him from behind had just passed the opening of the bridge. The brunette back stepped, desperately searching for another path, only to bump into another form. Swinging his gun around to connect with the face of a clot he continued onto the bridge, his last attempt to escape.

Aim, shoot. Reload, repeat. Run like hell.

The Englishman paid no mind to the Zeds on his heels, picking off the ones ahead of him as quickly as his reflexes allowed him.

_click click_

"Bugger." Foster slowed as his tore his last clip from the gun in his hands letting out another stream of curses, "new plan; bludgeon'um ta death." The useless gun was flipped over in gloved hands, holding it defensively out in front of him towards the approaching horde.

The brunette swung out with the weapon, easily taking down a pouncing Crawler before it got close to him. Then another swing; caving in the skull of a Clot. But the makeshift melee couldn't hold off the lot of them. Foster backed up against the stone railing of the bridge until his lower back connected with it. He was completely surrounded by the monstrosities, hissing and growling, clawing out for him.

He was completely screwed.

In a quick motion he clambered up into the railing, just barley dodging a to-close-for-comfort blade of a Gorefast. Another out lash by the revving chainsaw of a Scrake sent his gun over the edge.

The all too familiar Roar of a blatantly pissed off Flesh pound sounded to his right, drawing his attention and that of the surrounding Zeds. It charged, shoving the lesser beings out of its way, raising one of its mace like hands and aimed for Fosters chest..

Only to hit open air as The brunette toppled backwards, over the edge of the bridge to plummet to the waters of the Thames below.

Foster watched the shrinking forms of the Specimens looking dumbly over the edge of the bridge at their lost prey. He raised a hand as he free fell, throwing them a crude hand gesture and cackling aloud in triumph.

But his victory was cut short as his body connected with the icy water and enveloped his form, the current pulling him under before he had a chance to catch his breath.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, and he felt as if he had been whacked with a cinder block. Foster panicked, lashing out with his limbs to attempt to swim towards the surface, holding his breath despite the burning in his chest.

The thrashing of his limbs did nothing as a dull numbness over took his body, slowing his movement's and making it all the more difficult to close his lungs from the water begging to flood them.

His head broke surface, legs hitting hard against rock as the water grew shallow. He gasp for air, clawing at the water's surface as the current pushed him to a bank. The brunette, scrambled to pull himself onto the sandy bank, sputtering and hacking up lungful of water that had managed to fill them.

"Have a good swim then?" Two booted feet stood just in front of where Foster lay. Gray eyes narrowed at the comment but he didn't bother looking up at the blond, pulling his legs up underneath himself to kneel on the ground, "Bloody hell, you look like a drowned cat."

Foster coughs harshly once more, trying to wipe the water from his face uselessly. He was completely drenched, and the cold breeze sending shivers to wrack his body reminded him of just that, "Sh-sh-shut u-up, a-arse" he managed out.

A hand grabbing the back of his jacket to hoist him up to his feet followed by a scoff from the now fully visible man, "come along then, don't want you freezing, eh?" Foster could only nod, wrapping his arms tightly across his chest in attempt to gain some form of heat. Briar frowned, clicking his tongue as he placed his own arm around the others shoulder, pulling him close.

Foster grumbled, sending a glare to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

The loud pounding of a fist against the heavy wood of the church door echoed against the walls, "Foster! I told you I'd be here, open the bloody door!" the snarl of a voice was muffled, but easily recognized by the dark haired man lying on his stomach, sprawled over the makeshift bed.

He didn't bother replying; it'd be lost in the cavernous building anyway. He groaned in place, lifting his head from where it rested in the crook of his arm and blinked drearily. Foster hadn't really been asleep; he couldn't sleep, it just never came. But relaxing with his eyes shutting out the light of the world as he feigned his robbed piece was rest enough.

The brunette stood, forgoing his jacket draped over the back of a chair to make his way from the back room to one of the two wooden portals, lifting the heavy slab guarding the entrance and clicking open the lock.

"Welcome home, gorgeous" Foster purred, grinning teasingly to the disheveled blond.

Briar gave him a quick nod in return, slipping through the door to let it be closed behind him. A loud thunk followed the click of the door in its place as the riot-guard helmet fell onto an empty pew, the taller of the two men continuing his path to the back room of the church. The darker haired man followed, amusement evident in the small smirk touching his lips, "hard day at the office, then?"

The blond spared his teasing a glance, unzipping the heavy vest he wore to discard it as well, "lost my sodding Katana..."

Foster had to place a hand to his mouth to stop from laughing. It was a pity the other man was upset over his loss, but for the time being it meant he'd have to stay back enough to fire a gun stead of recklessly charging into the Specimens. Less work for the brunette, always having to patch him up.

But Briar caught his action, "don't laugh, arse." There was no malice behind the curse; there never was.

Foster chuckled just to go against the 'command'.

"Poor baby lost his toy, what will we d-!" The blond's already short temper was tipped by the continuous sarcastic remarks from the other. Throwing his arm out he took a hand full of the ever-messy brunette locks giving them a sharp yank to force the head attached to them near his own, tilting it back for a better angle..

And silenced the annoying gob with harsh lips pressed against it.

Little resistance was given from the other, happy to let the demanding lips overpower his own. Foster let out a low rumble in the back of his throat, grabbing Briar's dark blue shirt to steady himself against the assault of teeth and tongue to his mouth, parting his lips willingly to allow the wet muscle to slip between them, sweeping over the caverns of his mouth.

The taller's leg pushed between Foster's, taking a guiding step forward to lead the other backwards towards where the two men spent their late nights. Continuing the short path until Foster tumbled backwards onto the make-shift bed, breaking the kiss but taking Briar down with him.

"Bastard." Foster panted, sealing his lips back over the mouth of the man on top of him.

"Prat." Briar got out between chaste clashes of lips.

The two Englishmen fought for some kind of dominance, tearing at clothing, and continuing the almost violent kiss. The brunette seemed victor as his legs straddled the others thighs, arms braced on either side of the mop of blond hair, But the man trapped beneath him lead the kiss, coaxing Fosters tongue with strokes of his own an pushing the now gray material from pale shoulders.

The kiss broke once more with a sound 'pop', "you're so frustrated ya lost your sword..." Foster mused, licking the sheen of mixed saliva from his lips.

"Shut up, m'not done ravaging yer mouth." The blond growled, pawing at the others back and lifting his head to attempt to catch the lips just above his.

"Mmh...of course" The shorter of the two ghosted over his lips, "but...you know you could always just use mine..."

Briar paused, focusing on the grey eyes leveled to his, "Where?" Foster nodded his head to the chair his Jacket was draped over, the dark handle of said blade just visible beneath it.

Without hesitance, The Blond pushed the dead weight of the other man off him causing him to topple over onto the bed. He snatched the blade from its place along with his earlier discarded vest and headed for the door, uttering a simple 'be back later' before disappearing.

Foster sighed, lying on his side in the spot he'd been left, head resting in the palm of his hand, "crazy bugger..."


End file.
